


Thunderstorms

by SoManyFandoms



Series: The times a child Sherlock went to Mycroft because of life (and for hugs) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Mycroft, Child Sherlock, Comfort, Gen, Sleep, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:25:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyFandoms/pseuds/SoManyFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Child Sherlock doesn't like thunderstorms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is 3 years old and Mycroft is 10 years old.
> 
> Written April 2011. Non betaed and just quickly checked over before posting here.

Dark clouds blocked the moon and the stars. Mycroft was sure his little brother Sherlock hadn't noticed by looking trough the telescope set up in his room that Sherlock would and had never used. He had proclaimed the nightly show 'boring'. Mycroft hadn't been surprised. No, Sherlock had been outside when the clouds started, watching the various animal life while Mummy had sat not far away, because Sherlock could get into all sorts of happenings if left on his own. They had come inside not long after that and Mummy set Sherlock down in front of the fire and went to prepare tea, leaving him watching the flames, and Mycroft watching his brother.

***

The thunder started during dinner. Having stood up on his chair and secured the peas by stretching across the table, Sherlock let them go and dived under the wooden piece of furniture. The tablecloth started to turn transparent where the peas had fallen, thunder rumbled again, and Mummy put Sherlock's plate under the table, complete with the peas that had managed to stay in their serving bowl.

Sherlock had been an imp to put to bed that night. There would be the soft thud of socked feet coming down the hallway and then a little form would appear between the two armchairs pulled close to the fire. Both Mummy and Mycroft pretended not to notice. After a quarter of an hour had passed, whosever turn it was would get up, pick the sleeping Sherlock off the floor and put him back to bed.

His door squeaked. Mummy had said she would get the odd job man to oil it, but Mycroft had told her not to worry. A glance in Sherlock's direction, who was making sure the syrup covered all of his pancaks by tilting the plate, had told of the reason. The door squeaked again. There was the thud of footfalls and then the bedding moved, letting in cool air. Mycroft waited until there was a heat at his back before rolling over, still pretending to be asleep. Hair tickled his chin, and both fell asleep.


End file.
